A Thousand Lies and a Good Disguise
by APat96
Summary: Annabeth is sick and tired of waiting. Percy's never going to grow up and commit to her, and there are other guys lining up at her doorstep to do just that. But you can't pick the ones you love. Or can you?
1. Chapter 1

Pearly whites. Flawless complexion. Perfect vision. Thick heads of shining black hair.

As Annabeth sat at the dinner table, delicate chin resting in her hands, she took in the minute details of his face, trying to imagine what their hypothetical future offspring would look like.

They would get her nose, though. His was slightly crooked, though just enough to be quirky and charming. Was that from a bad punch to the face, or was he—

"Annabeth?" He asked suddenly, smiling in that adorably vulnerable way, almost like a small child getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Yes?" She asked eagerly. This was it. He was going to do it! She could see his hand slip underneath the table.

"Would you—"

"Yes!" She exclaimed excitedly, bouncing with joy.

"—Mind passing me some of those potatoes? They look pretty good."

"Yeah, sure," She cleared her throat, glancing down at her lap as she pushed her plate forward, hoping he hadn't noticed. From his continued conversation, he hadn't.

That had been a close one. But really, was it so hard to imagine a marriage proposal when he had brought her to this fancy restaurant for their anniversary?

"—And that's how Marsha, my shift supervisor, lost her wedding ring in the photocopier!" He laughed, finishing yet another work story with a grin. Annabeth laughed along with him, unknowing as to why losing jewelry in an office machine was so funny in the first place.

"Oh," she said, her eyebrows furrowing. "What a shame. I hope she got it out."

"What difference does it make, anyway?" He asked, confusion masking his handsome face. "She was cheating on him anyway. If you ask me, she had it coming to her."

Okay, cue major confusion. What they hell was he talking about? Wait, never mind, he was asking her something. What did he just say?

"—Your day?"

"Good," she grinned, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. "You know, something funny happened to me as well."

"Oh?" He asked, taking a sip of wine.

"Yes," she affirmed, leaning forward and clasping her hands. "Mrs. Mendelson, a regular at the shop, kept pestering me about when I would announce our engagement, but—"

Her mouth pinched shut, her face scrunching into a pucker as he spit his mouthful of wine into her face. Burgundy droplets ran down her face and into her cleavage.

"What?!" He choked out, horror clouding his eyes.

"If you had let me finish, I would've told you that I corrected her," Annabeth said quietly, bringing a napkin to her face and dabbing at her ruined makeup. She could feel her blonde curls begin to crumple with the additional moisture.

"I…I…you…you know we're not…never…I mean…" He stammered, green eyes flicking about the restaurant hysterically. Probably looking for an escape. His breath was rapid, and he had begun to sweat violently.

"Never?" She asked, now offended. "We've been dating for five years, I wouldn't call marriage impossible."

"I…I just don't think we're…ready. At that stage in our relationship, you know? I need time to think it out."

"What, five years wasn't enough?"

"No, well, I mean, obviously I thought we'd get married eventually, but that's supposed to be in the distant future. Like, when we turn thirty, or something. I…I assumed that you knew that."

"You…you didn't get me a ring," She murmured quietly, her face growing warm.

"I didn't think you were that kind of girl."

"I…" She took a deep breath, hoping to get rid of her pink complexion. "I'm not."

"Good," he said, taking her hand and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles soothingly. His smile was tight.

Annabeth picked up her fork and pushed the rosemary-laden potatoes around her plate, watching as they left a yellow trail of oil. Gross. Her steak was probably cold now, long forgotten, and her creamed spinach hadn't been that wonderful to begin with. She sighed, trying to think of ways to pass the time between now and whenever it would be that he finished his dinner.

As he cut a piece of steak methodically, stabbing the slab of meat with his fork, she thought about their first anniversary, when he had asked her to meet his parents.

He chewed, smiling at her. She thought about their second anniversary, when he had pulled out a black velvet box. They had been earrings.

He swallowed, dabbing the corners of his mouth with a white linen napkin. She thought to their third anniversary, when they had gone to the pound and gotten a cat together.

He took a sip of wine, and she thought about their last anniversary, when they had spent the entire night roaming the streets for said cat, which had run away. Annabeth hadn't minded too much, since the cat always clawed at her, but he had insisted, and the cat turned up three blocks away from their apartment.

And now? Now, she had just gotten denied. Again. Because even after five years, when they'd lived together and owned a cat together, marriage was still in the far and distant future.

Because even after five years, she wasn't wife material.

Even after five years, the thought of marrying her still made him panic.

After five years—

"I'm sorry, I can't," she said suddenly, rising from the table as her anger boiled over. Her white silk blouse was dotted with purple stains, probably ruined forever. Her mascara was probably smeared around her face. She probably looked like a crazy person to the other diners.

Her life was filled with probabilities: things that had seemed so certain, and yet failed to ever amount to anything.

"I'm leaving."

"What?" He asked, confused and startled. "What do you mean?"

"So long, old buddy, old pal. I'm done," she gathered her coat and purse, storming towards the door.

"Annabeth, what are you saying?" He rose, jogging to catch up to her.

"It means," she spun on her heel, fuming. "I'm done. I want a ring, and a wedding, and a boyfriend who doesn't panic at the thought of commitment." She cried, grimacing as tears prickled her eyes and fell. "A loose promise of the future isn't enough, and I'm lying to both of us if I say it is."

"Annabeth," He frowned, reaching a hand out to console her.

"Don't," She said, backing away from his reach. "I'm done. _We're _done."

"Annabeth, please."

"Goodbye, Percy," she called as the door slammed shut behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

Annabeth had thrown herself into her work after the breakup. For months, she hadn't been able to say his name. Even _thinking_ it required at least a pint of ice cream and two boxes of tissues.

Two hours post-relationship, after wandering around the park for a time wondering if breaking it off was a mistake, she headed back to their shared apartment, hoping that he had had the decency to stay away.

He had.

One day post-relationship, and she had moved all her stuff into her car, packed away neatly in brown cardboard boxes to be taken to a friend's apartment.

One week post-relationship, she had received a letter, plain as day, addressed with his messy scrawl. He had tried calling and texting her, it explained, but she had changed her number. Her father had given him the address.

He wanted her back. He was sorry. He was willing to change. Whatever she wanted, it was hers. Diamond ring? Check. Wedding? Call the planner. Commitment? Baby, I'm all yours.

She bought a red zippo lighter just for the occasion. Leaning out the third-story window as she did the deed, the bricks scraped her forearms while she watched the ashes scatter over Manhattan.

The next day, she exchanged her stained sweats for a form-fitting business suit, complete with a string of pearls around her neck. She had walked into the office, head held high, and had stayed until long after the other staff members had left. They had undergone a merger, receiving a new name in the process, and she had to work twice as hard now to prove her worth to the company.

Besides, honestly, who had time to date when designing a new property? Mrs. Mendelson, that little old realtor from the Upper West Side, had reeled her in a big one, and there would be plans to write up, sketches to draw, and construction to supervise. The only curves she needed were on her CAD program. The only touch from a male came when her fingers brushed against those of the barista on one of her many late night coffee runs.

Her cubicle was crowded with papers and pencils, varieties of light bulbs and tiles that she would have to decide between. When her phone rang one Tuesday morning six months post-relationship, she could hardly find it under a pile of empty Starbucks cups.

"Hello?" She answered, breathlessly tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Ms. Chase? Bob Newman here." Her company's CEO answered in his gruff, blasé tone.

"Mr. Newman! Hi!" She quickly perked up in a way only authority could impose upon her. "Is there something you need? How's Clarice?"

"Fine, good, whatever." He answered dismissively. "I need you in my office in five."

With that, he hung up the phone, the dial tone ringing mockingly in Annabeth's ear.

"Crap!" She muttered, bouncing up from her desk and smoothing her skirt. She glanced down at her outfit.

The white blouse was a little wrinkled, and there was a coffee stain towards the bottom, but if she stood with her hands _just_ so—there, that should cover it.

Finger-combing her matted curls as she walked briskly down the hall, Annabeth's mind raced with possibilities.

Was she being fired? Promoted? Scolded?

With two minutes to spare, she leaned towards the closed door, gently pressing an ear against the heavy oak. She could hear a faint murmuring, but nothing more.

She leaned in closer, her face flush against the cool wood, straining to listen and make sense of the noise. Suddenly, the door flew open, taking her by surprise, and she fell forward, stumbling into the office rather ungracefully.

Two strong arms caught her mid-fall, one grasping her left arm and the other snaking around her back to steady her. Whoever it was, his arms felt like a soft, expensively made suit jacket. He smelled vaguely spicy. It was a smell she could grow accustomed to.

She caught her footing, rubbing her head sheepishly, and smoothed her outfit once more.

"I'm so sorry, I was leaning against the door, and—" She stopped mid sentence, looking up at her savior. She was shocked to find shining black hair, a stubble-free chin, and piercing, green eyes.

"Percy?!" She gasped, taking a step back, her eyes widening.

"Oh, good, you know him already," Mr. Newman, a stout, balding, fifty-something man barked from behind his massive desk, rising from his seat. The wall behind him was made entirely of windows, and the skyline of New York glinted in the mid-afternoon sun below.

"I…well, sort of, you see," She fumbled for words, her eyes flicking about the room. Tears began to prickle her eyes. She hadn't seen him since that night in the restaurant.

He had looked scruffy back then. He _was_ a website designer, after all. He had lived in hoodies and jeans, always with shaggy hair that covered his ears and stubble that itched her chin when they kissed.

He had always—

"Good," Newman said tersely, making his way towards them. "You'll be working very closely these next few months."

"Excuse me?" She squeaked, fear constricting her vocal chords.

"I, uh," Percy explained sheepishly, giving her a half-smile. "I've been hired as a web manager. We'll be designing the website for your new building together."

"Yippee," Annabeth replied with false enthusiasm, wishing she didn't feel so sick to her stomach. If she puked inside the CEO's office, she would never live it down. She'd be asked to leave. Fired. The laughing stock of the real estate development field. She'd—

"Well, I'll let you two begin working. It's going to take some time, I understand, to get everything up and running in working order!" Newman chimed happily, moving back towards his desk and sinking into his black leather ergonomic chair.

"Awesome," She muttered under her breath, pushing past Percy and storming back down the hallway towards her cubicle with him hot at her heels.

"So I was thinking we could do a—" He began casually, pushing aside a pile of papers to perch on the corner of her desk.

"Don't touch those," she snapped, sinking down in her chair.

"—Layout with some 3D sketches of the building, get some relevant facts down first to—"

"Look," she sighed through her nose, "You've obviously got an idea of what you want the website to look like, so you can work on that somewhere else. Meanwhile, just email me with any requests for pictures and stuff, and stay out of my way."

"You seem upset," he smirked, his eyebrows crinkling.

"I _am _upset!" She exclaimed. "You just couldn't leave me alone! You couldn't take 'no' for an answer! I didn't respond to you for a _reason!_ Get over me already!"

"Annabeth," he responded delicately. "I _am_ over you. I've moved on. I've even got a girlfriend, I swear."

Annabeth gulped back the hurt and shock at his response. How could he have moved on so quickly when she was still in pain? Obviously he was just making it up. Obviously he was here to win her back. It wasn't going to work, though, was it?

"Then why are you here?" She demanded, her eyebrows furrowing.

"I decided to get my act together. I couldn't laze around the house wearing sweats forever," he shrugged. "Besides, the pay is good and Newman is a cool guy, once you get on his good side."

"I find that hard to believe," Annabeth snorted.

"Yeah, well," Percy rose, turning towards the exit of her cubicle. "Just to clarify once more, I'm not here to try to win you back or anything," he said, leaving.

And for once, she believed him.


	3. Chapter 3

"And I want the Baker report on my desk within the next ten minutes," Annabeth's boss, senior partner Tracy—whose British accent could cut through stone—said through gritted teeth. "Are you able to comprehend that? Even a second over ten, and you're fired."

With that, Tracy stomped off, her harsh black pumps pounding against the hardwood floors.

Annabeth sighed, sinking into her chair and rubbing her temples profusely. Tracy had always had a stick up her ass, but since when had she gotten so snarky?

"Boo," a voice came from behind her, startling her out of her thoughts. She spun around quickly, glaring at the intruder.

"Oh," she said flatly. "It's you." She turned her back to Percy, heaving another heavy sigh.

"Yeah," he replied, his grin audible. "I was thinking we could work on that website. You know, get some of those brilliant drawings of yours up for the whole world to see?"

"Percy," she groaned, "Now is really not a good time. I've got a load of work to get done right now, and on top of that—"

"Lovely day out, isn't it?" Tracy's voice came lilting into the cubicle. The edge, mysteriously, had disappeared. Gods, maybe Tracy _was_ bipolar.

"Tracy," Annabeth said through gritted teeth, "It has been all of two minutes since you asked for the report. Last I checked, that means I still have eight."

"I wasn't talking to _you,_" the other woman snapped, glaring at Annabeth for a moment before redirecting her attention to Percy. "Now, as I was saying: it's such a marvelous day out, I was thinking perhaps an early lunch at Café Lis Orange—they've got this amazing patio garden in the back—and then some frozen yogurt at Dolce Ghiaccio. What say you?"

"Sounds lovely," Percy agreed, nodding his head with a pleasant enthusiasm. Tracy smiled at him, and, throwing one warning smirk Annabeth's way, leaned in, pecking him on the cheek.

"You now have four minutes," she called over her shoulder in a singsong voice as she walked off, those annoying black heels clicking once more. Annabeth swore under her breath.

Flinging papers left and right, she compiled a short, mostly neat stack and leapt from her seat, run-walking as fast as she could without dropping anything.

"Yeah, so, I've...well, I've been meaning to talk to you about…that," Percy stammered, walking alongside her with little difficulty. "I mean, I've been meaning to tell you that, well, Tracy and I—"

"Percy," Annabeth warned, picking up the pace. Unfortunately, he sped up as well.

"Well, it's just, we met at a cocktail party a few weeks ago, and, Gods, I mean, we just—"

"Percy," Annabeth rolled her eyes, turning away from him.

"And you should've seen this dress she had on. I mean, _seriously_, it was ridiculous. She's got great legs, and boy, that as—"

"Percy, honey, now is not a good time!" She finally snapped, standing still for a moment. Percy, shocked, froze alongside her.

Annabeth's chest heaved up and down, and the vein on her forehead stood out prominently. She clenched the stack of papers with an iron-tight grip.

"It's…It's been awhile since you've called me 'honey'," he said quietly after a moment. "I actually kind of miss it."

"Yeah, well," she looked at her shoes. Plain, gray penny loafers. The exact opposite of Tracy's. "Whose fault is that?"

She turned and walked away, leaving Percy standing where he had stopped. Keeping her eyes on the glossy hardwood floors, she batted at her eyes, pleading with her tear ducts to just put a hold on it, just for a few minutes.

Swallowing back the lump in her throat, she rapped her knuckles on the door, taking small steps into her superior's office.

"Annabeth," Tracy smiled in a fake, saccharine way. "I was beginning to get worried. Thirty seconds later, and you would have been out of a job."

"Yes, well," Annabeth sighed, attempting to smile and failing. "Here's the Baker report."

"You can put it on that stack over by the window," Tracy gestured with her pen. Annabeth complied, holding her hands in place for a moment to ensure the papers wouldn't go flying everywhere.

"Is that all?" She asked, inching towards the door.

"Annabeth," Tracy sighed, pulling off her reading glasses and massaging the bridge of her nose. "Let's talk."

"About…?" Annabeth asked, her eyebrows furrowing with questions.

"I think you know."

"Well, Tracy, much as I'd enjoy being omnipotent, I really can't read minds."

"Percy," she spat out the syllables.

"What about him?" Annabeth sighed, swallowing once more to hold back whatever her tear ducts planned on throwing at her.

"I know you two dated for quite some time."

"Your point?"

"He's with me now," Tracy smiled. "Don't get any grand ideas of winning him back. I don't think he'd want a—" she gestured up and down at Annabeth. "Well, someone like you. Not now, at least."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't try anything."

"Tracy, if I might say something—"

"You're dismissed. This conversation is over. And I wouldn't mention this to Percy, by the way. He'll obviously think you're making it up for attention."

"Are you…are you blackmailing me?"

"Get out of my bloody office, before I fire you!"

Annabeth retreated, fuming, and slunk out into the hallway, body tensing. Quickly glancing around the office to see if anyone was watching, she whipped off her shoe, flinging it to the floor in frustration as hard as she could manage. She let out a mangled, stifled shriek as she sank to the floor, her back leaning against the wall.

Tilting her head back against the cool plaster, she let out a heavy sigh. It was then that the plan came to her, clear as black and white, night and day, apples and oranges.

Step One of that plan? Seduce Percy.


End file.
